Of Monsters and Men- Tom Riddle x OC

41

Animo was afraid to open her eyes at the torrent of familiar smells swirling about her face. The sunbaked earth, buried beneath the foliage of oak trees. A faint hint of spice in the air from the nearby village. Even the dirt beneath her boots crunched in a manner that echoed of her childhood, when she and Gellert used to chase each other barefoot across the sand.

Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her swirling emotions and attempted to shut them into a box, stored away for a moment when she could afford to let herself feel. Beside her, she felt the air move between herself and Tom as he stepped away.

She opened her eyes. A decrepit old house stood before them, the windows boarded and covered with jagged sheets of plywood. Several of the wooden shingles laid upon the roof were cracked and broken, their uneven surface coated in a layer of sand. The white baseboards of the walls were stained and as Animo stepped forward, her sole crunched against a shard of glass.

Tom was silent, seeming to understand where she had brought them.

Swallowing her pain, Animo turned back towards her housemate, attempting to keep her tone even. "I'm not sure if Gellert has been here, but perhaps he has left clues that will help Albus defeat him."

Tom responded with a stiff nod and she turned away. Despite their current state, Animo was grateful to have the wizard beside her. If there was anyone that could find Gellert's trail besides herself, it would be Tom.

Walking briskly towards the porch, Animo squared her shoulders, trying to avoided the bloodstain on the lowest step. Her father had once fallen down the porch after a late night at the pub, cracking his skull against the wood. She and Gellert had always steered clear of the mark, although Gellert had seemed to regard it with a dark malice that Animo was just beginning to understand.

She stopped in front of the door, uncertain whether she would be able to go inside. Had Gellert placed any protective wards within the walls? She doubted her brother would have wanted to return to a place where he felt so powerless. But Gellert was nothing if not unpredictable.

To her relief, the chipped porcelain handle turned easily beneath her touch and the door swung open of its own accord, the hinges screeching with the effort. Animo's mouth dropped at the inside. The small sitting room was laid exactly as she remembered, untouched by wear or age. Her mother's prize sofa sat in the right corner, decorated with a cheery throw that was charmed to wrap itself around the wearer. To the left was a battered lampstand, the copper dull and dark in the dim light.

Still, Tom said nothing. A bitter emptiness tugged at Animo's chest as she trailed her fingers along the oak coffee table, recognizing where Gellert had scratched his initials on one of the legs. He had received a particularly nasty beating for the deed.

Animo avoided the kitchen entirely, heading up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Hers and Gellert's door was firmly shut, a slight change in the well-preserved house. Their mother had always warned that a door left closed was a door better left open.

Her parent's bedroom door was ajar, as if someone had left in a hurry. Animo crept into the room and her boots made the floorboards creak. This was a place she had spent little time in, never liking how her father's presence always seemed to linger.

The bed itself was plain, draped with a white cotton sheet that was stained with smoke and whiskey. Animo's toe hit the edge of a glass bottle and she winced, kicking it back beneath the bedsprings. As she did so, her knee brushed against the edge of something cold.

Bending down, Animo tugged a metal frame from beneath the mattress, using her good hand. Her other arm was now entirely useless, hanging against her chest as Animo turned over the small portrait.